diane,
began to find other ancient texts, not dated (except for files that carry them). in the absence of more to say, hey you.
senhornumeroseis the apocryphal gospels (1/muitos):
my biggest fear the loss is how easy I just got used to them. this fear develops into a nuisance to the interior face a certain coldness, a selfish detachment from what is around me, and the glimpse that maybe all I have in my relationships with the world is a superficial connection, puerile.
sometimes I think that fear is something older half-forgotten remnant of a persona that I've been and am no more. I feel as if, realizing the floor of the unspeakable things with their cycles start and end, and accept that losses and gains part of these cycles, I was betraying the devotion that supposedly I should have things that are important for me. just being an idiot double trouble: the trouble with the attachment to things and a certain guilt by noting that this attachment, however strong it may seem, is as fragile as sand.
good, I never said it was not complicated.
my sense of satisfaction has different facets, but some of them become applicants. the pleasure of discovery is one, and the search for comfort each other. not necessarily physical comfort (although this also manifests itself in-between), but above all psychological comfort. details ranging from how furniture is configured as a protective environment where I want to take refuge Small smells, tastes, sounds, and thermal sensations across the room at certain times, impervious to the sight of everyone except my (pretend). little things that Cayce pollard understand. Cayce Pollard is to be someone really, pragmatically speaking.
the integrity of my memories is one of those havens of comfort. happens fear in the transition between routine and memory. "Death does not bother me, but rather die," they say. is a bit of it: the distance between drop a comfortable routine and get to establish it as a souvenir haven, this time of burial, it is that makes me anxious.
distress, like the devil is in the details.
there are days when I am far from myself that these thoughts volatilize; come and go between a traffic signal and a return, and vanish in the dust, leaving a taste of unconsciousness (in the sense of the word psychotherapy) and abandonment. My thoughts have rarely lasted long enough to turn words, do not fix themselves in time to manifest. Reference to Bjork is immediate: "Today is the last day that use words, they are gone, lost their meaning - do not work anymore."
one of the few things I learned watching this for years and years is the need to give time to things, expected that the crust of spoilage know the right time, the turning point. until that happens, I continue to surrounding sounds, smells and psychological comforts that I can.
things are as they are now more than ever been before.
" How much of the day can you sit around Letting all your feelings
drag underground?
I do not care and the care I
Because I want it
If I Know That it's out there everywhere.
I'm on the dark side of the street,
Not the light side of the street.
It's packed at 2am.
've got no coat, Are you on
your own?
I'm into you. When are you going
home?
Get into me. "
EBTG," Lullaby of Clubland "(Moody - 1999)
Dear Aunt Agony
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